Blurb

Since his brother's death, Camden’s yearly road trip to celebrate Christmas with his parents has
turned to nothing more than drudgery. With his holiday spirit gone, this is the last year he will
subject himself to their narrow-minded views on his life.

But Cam’s world takes a left turn when he gets snowed-in with the eccentric and way-too-jolly
Trace. Maybe…just maybe spirits can be revived and the joy of Christmas reclaimed.

This book was originally published December 2011 in the anthology And The Prompt

Is...Holiday Edition with the Story Orgy. Though the base story remains intact, it has been edited

again, enhanced from its original version. I hope you enjoy this new version and thank you.

A Trace of Christmas Spirit

By

Havan Fellows

Smashwords edition published in the United States

Second Edition Copyright © November 2013 by Havan Fellows

Copyright © December 2011 by Havan Fellows

Acknowledgements

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, incidents and positions are completely

and absolutely a part of the author's skewed imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or deceased, businesses, events or locales are entirely coincidental and maybe a little bit

freaky.

Cover Art by Startled Monkeys Media

Editing by Jae Ashley

All rights are reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work

in whole or in part in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, is forbidden

without express written permission of the publisher/author. So please be good, good is fun.

Dedications

To Bev Smith whose joy for life and generous heart have guaranteed that her spirit shines down

from the brightest star in the sky.

To Myristica Onenine…you are always a joy to talk to, and these prompt words you sent in made

a story pop into my head that I'm very proud of. Thank you for your kindness, and I hope you

enjoy this story that wouldn't be if not for you.

Prompt words: toy maker / snowed in cabin / Christmas wrapping

Trademark Acknowledgements:

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following

trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Merriam-Webster: Merriam-Webster, Incorporated

Oxford (Dictionary): Chancellor Masters and Scholars of the University of Oxford

And now…for your reading enjoyment…

A Trace of Christmas Spirit

Chapter 1

Camden Bartels swore under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was drive

thousands of miles to spend a fucking fake ass holiday with his fake ass family. None of them

mattered to him anymore; he was free of their tyranny. Free until Christmas came around every

year, that was. He was forced to drive up to Maine once a year to spend a grueling week with

people who didn't give a damn about him. How did that work anyway? How was a grown man

forced to do something so heinous that he absolutely despised the thought of it?

Oh yeah, because his kid brother made him swear to it. Daley was the only one of the lot

worth anything. The only one with the power to make Camden take this journey every year, even

after Daley's passing ten winters ago.

Well, this was it. The last year he participated in this stupid ass ritual. His parents could

just shove it; they didn't want him there anyway. They had written him off long ago when he

confessed the obvious… he didn't like girls. His mother actually offered to pay for his therapy if

he would just find a nice wife and have lots of rugrats. His father threatened to beat the shit out

of him until he manned up and hit back. He would have pulverized his father with two good

blows. Two really fucked up ideas of how to straighten his ass out, if you asked Cam. Hell, you

could ask anyone and they would think the same thing: his parents were bigoted lunatics.

Not Daley, though. Six years younger than Cam, his brother had been fine with his

orientation. When Camden turned eighteen—and not only moved out of his parents' house, but

out of their state and as far south as he could get, Miami—Daley was the only one to write or

send him birthday cards. He insisted Cam come up for Christmas every year, promising that the

folks would be on their best behavior, telling him to stop seeing the glass as half empty. Camden

never could say no to that snot-nosed brat, so every year, he would curse under his breath and

throw his suitcase in his car and take the godforsaken drive up the East Coast.

The first seventeen years he dealt with it fine, he enjoyed Christmas well enough and

seeing his brother made it all worthwhile. Sure, once Daley became an adult, he'd visited Cam,

but during the holidays there was always an extra sparkle in his eye that made Cam willing to do

just about anything for him.

Property Of Unseen Unheard Library

Daley had stayed in their small hometown and made a name for himself woodworking.

Who would have thought that there was actual money to be made anymore in handcrafted

furniture? Wasn't everything made by machines now? But Daley's pieces were mystical, they

captured your attention and refused to let go. That boy was gifted.

He used to talk about how an elf would come to him in his dreams and describe his next

project in detail, that was where he got all his ideas from. Camden figured if you were going to

have any kind of creative talent, a dream would be the best place to get your inspiration. But boy,

did he like to rib Daley about being visited by a short man in green tights with pointy ears. Drove

Daley insane, and he swore that wasn't how the elf looked at all.

But that was then, and this was now—as the old saying went. And now was the time to

stop this charade and make the final break from his past life.

He would too, just as soon as he got there, if he ever got there. He wasn't quite sure

where the hell he was, other than in North Carolina somewhere. The snow fell early this year it

seemed, and heavy. A snowstorm had hit with a vengeance, something the weather stations

completely missed. He could barely see out the windshield. Luckily, he had filled up his tank in

the last town he passed through, but he evidently wasn't smart enough to ask what town that was,

and he couldn't see any of the signs on the side of the road. This was ridiculous, why was he

driving in this shit? He wasn't in a hurry to get there. Might as well find a motel and hunker

down for the night.

Problem was he hadn't passed anything in over an hour, no more towns, no hotels, not

even an out of the way gas station with their prices jacked up so high you would need a new

mortgage to fill up.

Cam slowed to a crawl when his visibility became limited to only ten or so feet in front of

his car. Great. He couldn't sleep in his car, since he'd have to keep it running all night with the

heat on to make sure he didn't get frostbite or something. That plan didn't appeal to him because

of the gas it would waste. Not knowing when he would hit the next station was a real deterrent.

Camden continued this snail pace for another hour or so when he finally saw something

in the distance. He didn't care what it was – gas station, motel, or someone's house. He was going

to stop. What was the worst that could happen?

He inched up to what looked like a simple cabin with a snow-filled front porch, two

windows, and not a whole lot more. Not even a car in the driveway, if there was a driveway.

There weren't any distinguishable marks that would attest to one—no noticeable edges raised in

the snow, no tire marks that could've withstood the flurries of white beating down. Figuring that

no one would complain about him ruining a front yard, he got as close to the porch steps as

possible and sat there staring.

The good news, lights were on in the house. That boded well for him. The bad news, he

got no cell reception with this storm, so if someone decided they didn't like strange men visiting

them at night, he could be in trouble. He had figured out his cell phone was useless over thirty

miles back when he first tried his 3G and couldn't get on, then tried to call his friend at home and

saw he had no bars.

Well, sitting here wasn't getting him anywhere. Camden zipped up his jacket. He debated

whether he should take the time to pop the trunk and dig out his heavy winter coat, an act that

would normally take less than a minute in decent weather. But in this storm, it would probably

take five to ten, so he decided to pass. He was right by the stairs, anyway. He completed his

piddly ensemble with his gloves and hat, grabbed his overnight bag (optimism at its finest), and

turned off his car. He could feel the cold seeping in before he even opened his door. Taking one

last warm breath, he hustled himself out of the car and started for the front door. It didn't take

long for his feet to start freezing. He wasn't wearing his heavy boots, just tennis shoes. He hadn't

expected to get out in snow. Hell, he hadn't expected this kind of snow period.

Taking the stairs too quickly, not realizing that they were iced over, Cam flew backward

and landed smack on his backside. He was so deep in the snow it fell on top of him and he

couldn't even see his lap. "Son of a bitch!" He seesawed himself back and forth until he was able

to roll onto his knees and get his feet back under him. He was sure that his balls had either frozen

up and fallen off or burrowed their way back into his body—either way he wasn't having kiddos

anytime soon thanks to that fall. Not that kiddos were in his future, but he kind of liked the idea

of having the option there.

He made his way back to the stairs and took them much slower this time.

There was no doorbell, so he pounded with his fist on the wood door, a simple knock

wouldn't have caused any noise with his gloves on, and the way he was fucking freezing, he

wasn't taking off a damn bit of clothing. Hopping from one frozen foot to the other, trying to

keep the circulation going, he waited.

No answer.

Damn. He pounded some more, determined that if no one answered, he would break in—

in the name of survival, of course.

He lifted his fist for a third pounding on the door, wincing at the sting he was feeling

through his hand, when the door opened on its own.

Okay, that's a little weird.

It took him exactly five seconds to freak out about that phenomenon, then the cold

convinced him he didn't care who or what opened the damn door. He rushed in and slammed it

behind him, his teeth clattering, making a god-awful noise.

"If you'd please step two paces to your right, you can drip on the towel instead of my

hand-sewn rug."

Chapter 2

Camden jumped, which caused him to stagger backward onto the towel the stranger was

pointing to. "Holy shit, you scared me!"

"I never understood that expression. Why would shit ever be holy? No preacher I know

would bless it. You people have the strangest sayings." The stranger walked toward him and

started unzipping Cam’s jacket.

"Um…hello? What are you doing?" Camden chattered out as he tried to push the guy's

persistent hands away from him. "Stop that."

Ignoring his protests, the man worked around Cam's hands to finally open up the article

of clothing he was infatuated with. "You are covered in snow and soaking wet. If we don't get

these off you, pneumonia is in your imminent future. That will not do, it would make no one

happy."

The stranger roughly turned Cam around as he yanked the jacket down his arms and

threw it in a basket set by the towel.

"Hmm. Your sweater is also damp, what were you doing? Making snow angels? Off with

this, too."

Again, without his permission, the stranger quickly dragged the sweater up his chest and

over his head. He raised his arms at the last minute in fear that this psycho would actually take

them off if they didn't cooperate.

"Who the hell are you? And where are you from?" Cam had noticed a unique accent that

he couldn't place, not that he was an accent expert or anything.

"Shouldn't I be asking you those questions? You are standing in my parlor, after all."

Camden took a second to get a good look at this guy. Well, if nothing else came from this

strange meeting, at least he was hot. Not in the ordinary make-his-jeans-drop-and-beg-to-be-

done-right way… more in the interesting-to-look-at-and-study-because-did-his-eyes-just-

twinkle-and-change-color way. And Cam swore they just did both. When this man had walked

over to Cam, he had distinctly blue eyes, now they looked more lavender, and they—Camden

couldn't even believe he was thinking this—but they really did sparkle or something. Maybe he

wore contacts.

Aside from the eyes, the man had a slightly larger than normal nose and high forehead,

blond bangs hanging shaggily to the side. The rest of his blond hair was tousled and fell just

below the collar of his pullover sweater. Oh, but his lips were tempting too. Camden was a

sucker for a good set of lips with a distinctive cupid's bow.

The man ran his hands over Camden's chest. When his fingertips rubbed innocently

enough over Cam's nipples, he had to bite his lip to stop the moan.

Cam swatted again at those roaming hands. "Fine. I'm Camden Bartels and I'm from

Miami. Now does my chest pass your inspection?"

"Yes. This shirt is dry, you may keep it on."

"Well, thank you so much. Do you always treat your guests like this?"

"Technically, I never invited you in. So if we were to use your Merriam-Webster

dictionary's definition, then you aren't a guest. Those pants are wet, take them off."

Camden never thought he could feel indignant about a gorgeous man wanting him to

undress, but at this moment—hell yeah he could. "Not happening. And I always preferred the

Oxford dictionary myself."

As was his obvious MO, the stranger reached down and started undoing Cam's belt. Cam

used his teeth to remove his leather gloves and tried to struggle with the stranger but his fingers

were still tingly and couldn't flex properly to stop him.

That was when he realized he was half naked, standing awfully close to the wooden front

door, which he would bet good money wasn't insulated to code, and his teeth weren't chattering

anymore. "Hey, why am I not freezing anymore?"

"The fire has been going strong for hours. We made it so this cabin can keep the heat in

and the cold out. Ah, there we go." He finished with the belt and just pushed it out of his way

instead of completely taking it off. The button and zipper followed quickly, then his jeans were

being tugged down his hips and past his thighs.

Cam said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t gone commando today. "You know,

normally I know a man's name before I let him kneel in front of me sans pants."

The man stopped in the middle of untying Cam's right sneaker and looked up. "Really?"

Cam thought a second then shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, maybe not always, sue me."

"Why would I sue you for making a joke?" Cam shook his head at his host's remark. His

right sneaker flew into the basket with the rest of his attire and the stranger started on the left

one.

"Um…so…you live out here in the middle of nowhere?" It was a pathetic attempt at

conversation, but Camden needed to keep his mind off the fact that a gorgeous stranger was on

his knees in front of him and nothing sexual was going to happen. The fact that Cam wouldn't

stop anything from happening wasn't even an issue, because he knew he wouldn't.

"I am here as a favor to a dear friend of mine."

"Damn, he must be a good friend for you to housesit in this weather."

"I do not intend to sit on any house, and the weather is as it should be."

As soon as his shoes and socks were removed and the jeans pulled completely off him,

Cam stepped back and away from this strange man. He didn't want to give the guy a reason to

feel his underwear and decide whether they were dry enough. "I drive up to Maine every year at

this time. It is never like this in North Carolina. Maybe if we were up near Connecticut I would

understand—but we are way too south for this type of storm this early in the season."

The man stood, eyeing his boxer briefs. Camden had to fight the urge to cover his

package with his hands. Finally the stranger raised his eyes to Cam's, and they were blue yet

again. "True. But we are not in North Carolina. I'll make you some hot cocoa. It's homemade and

will calm your nerves."

"My nerves are just fine, thank you." Cam followed him, not caring that he was

practically naked as long as he was nice and warm. "Hey. What do you mean we aren't in North

Carolina? There is no way I made it to Virginia yet."

A warm mug was placed in his hands. "Would you like cookies or brownies? I just made

some peppermint sugar cookies. The timing was impeccable, of course."

"You're nuts, aren't you? And where did you get this from?" He stared at the dark hot

cocoa with the two big marshmallows in it.

"No, I don't have any nuts in them, but I'll remember for next time. Have a seat and sip

slowly, it is hot." He walked over to the counter and started plating a batch of candy cane shaped

cookies.

Without thinking about it, Cam walked to the two-seater kitchenette table and sat in the

chair that was already pulled out. The plate of cookies was set in front of him, and he

absentmindedly reached for one with his free hand. He bit into the morsel of goodness and

couldn't contain his groan of appreciation. Normally he wasn't a peppermint fan, but the minty

flavor was mild enough for him to enjoy and played off the sweetness of the sugar dough

perfectly. The bottom and top were just a touch on the crispy side but the thick middle was soft

and chewy. This had to be the best damn cookie he had ever eaten, and he quickly went for

another.

"They are good, aren't they? The key is to use homemade candy canes to flavor it, not

that fake green liquid they sell in your stores. You grind them into a fine powder and it only

takes a few tablespoons and voila."

Cam started coughing and sipped his rich and creamy hot cocoa to get the piece of cookie

out of his throat. Okay, he was never drinking coffee again if he could have this cocoa instead.

"You grind candy canes into a powder to make cookies? By hand?" He sipped again. "Wait a

minute—you make homemade candy canes to grind into a powder to make cookies, by hand?"

"Well, I don't do it by foot." He straightened up in what looked to be surprise, then started

giggling. "You're rubbing off on me. I made a joke. That was unexpected."

"That was a joke?"

"Well." He turned to wipe down the already spotless counter. "I assume it may not be a

very good one. I don't have training in humor."

Camden suddenly felt bad for his remark, then realized he never even bothered to get his

host's name either. His manners were never great, but had they hit an all-time low? "Nah, it was

good, I'm just stuck in my skivvies in a stranger's kitchen whose name I don't even know. I think

it's made me cranky."

"Oh, you're right. I haven't introduced myself. I was so busy getting your clothes off and

filling your belly I didn't even think."

And how did he make that sentence sound so innocent?

A hand was thrust in front of his face with a stiff arm in what Cam could only guess was

supposed to be the beginning of a handshake. He stood, turned the hand sideways and shook it

properly. "Let's start again. Hello, my name is Camden Bartels, and I'm from Miami, driving

north to Maine. And you are?"

"Curious why you drove. Don't get me wrong, it made things easier but I never

understood that."

"You never understood why someone would drive? Lots of reasons, though gas prices

right now isn't one of them. For me, well, I have a nasty fear of flying. Since they frown on being

comatose drunk when boarding a plane, driving is my only option. So yeah, I guess it made it

easier on me."

He looked down at their joined hands that the stranger was still shaking up and down

with vigor. He smiled and extricated his hand gently. "And…your name is?"

"I almost did it again." He giggled. "My name is Trace Northhart. Let me tell you, it is

my pleasure to meet you."

Chapter 3

Camden rolled to his side and bonked his head against the wall.

"What the fuck. Ow." He rubbed his forehead where it had connected to a wall that wasn't

there for the fifteen years he had lived in his condo. Opening his eyes, he realized he wasn't

home. It took him a few seconds to shake the sleepy fog out of his head before he remembered

where he was, in an interestingly weird Trace's cabin.

Cam had actually expected them to camp out in the living room in front of the fireplace

to sleep. With the snowstorm whirling outside, he would've thought that was the only way to stay

warm. But Trace had assured him the cabin was created to keep all the rooms at a comfortable

temperature, and he had been right. In fact, he was so right that Cam had actually kicked his

blanket and sheet off in the middle of the night, a common habit he acquired from sleeping in the

Miami heat all these years.

He climbed out of the twin-size bed. He had no clothes to put on, so he opened the

bedroom door and headed to the main part of the cabin. It was a simple layout for a cabin,

nothing fancy—a living room with an open kitchen design, one hall leading to two bedrooms,

and a front and back door that both opened up to the wraparound porch stretching down three

sides of the house. He had noted another door on the opposite end of the kitchen, but he hadn't

opened it, thinking it was probably a utility room or mudroom of some sort.

He saw Trace in the far corner of the living room sitting at a massive easel type desk.

"Watchya doing?" He walked over to him, scratching his belly in the process.

He grinned to himself when he noticed Trace's eyes following the movement of his hand.

He slowed that movement down a little and made sure his T-shirt lifted in the process. He wasn't

against having a little tumble with the guy before heading on his way. It had been months since

his break-up with his last boy toy and a little something before facing his parents would lighten

his spirits.

He ran his hand up his stomach and over his chest, making sure his shirt caught on his

pinky finger, Cam worked hard on his abs and showing them off was always a turn-on. His palm

finally went high enough that the shirt tugged itself back into place, so he raised his arms over

his head, stretching to bring the material up again.

Trace's eyes sparkled some more like they had last night, and when Cam studied them,

they were green this time.

His concentration was lost to his curiosity. "Do you wear contacts?"

Trace slowly shook his head, lifting his gaze to look at Cam's face instead of his

midsection.

"Contact lenses? No, perfect vision is a benefit with the job."

Huh? "I've never heard of a job that grants you perfect vision. Insurance for optometrist

visits, sure, but perfect vision?"

Trace shrugged and went back to the paper he was doodling on. Camden walked up

alongside the drafting table and looked at what took Trace's interest away from him. "What are

you drawing? That looks like…hold on a second…" Cam maneuvered behind Trace and leaned

over his shoulder to get the proper angle. He might have been encroaching on Trace's personal

space, but until Trace complained about it, he wasn't too worried.

His eyes took in the whole scene on the roll of blank paper, then narrowed in on different

aspects of it. "This is the North Pole, isn't it? That right there is Santa's workshop…and that is

the stable with the reindeer. Look you can see the tail poking out." He laughed and looked at the

picture as a whole again. "That is really good. You drew all that freehand?"

"Of course."

"Trace won't trace?" Camden laughed at his corniness and hip bumped Trace out of the

way. "May I?" He went to lift the paper.

"Okay. But it isn't even halfway finished yet, I still have to get the shading in, then paint

it, and put a thin coat of gloss on top." Trace moved off the stool and stood to the side.

Cam lifted the paper and realized it wasn't regular drawing paper. It was a tad thicker but

not necessarily stronger. "Why would you gloss it? How would you gloss it?" He touched where

the paper was rolled around a tube to the right. "This reminds me of something …"

Trace smiled at Camden and nodded his head. "That's the way they package the wrapping

paper you buy in your stores. I fought for a long time against rolling it up like that, but it really is

easier."

Camden dropped his jaw and looked back at the drawing. "You're making wrapping

paper? I mean this…" He shook the paper in his hands, making Trace wince a little. "This is

wrapping paper you're drawing on?"

Trace lifted his hands as if to stop Cam, then lowered them, just to lift them again. "Yes,

oh please be careful. It tears easily." He retook his spot in front of the board and lifted up his soft

lead pencil. "I draw the designs, then paint them with this special quick drying paint, follow that

up with a light coat of this gloss, let it dry then roll it and start with the next section." He lifted

individual bottles while explaining. "I just started this roll. But those over there are done and

ready to wrap the gifts with." He pointed to a dozen or so rolls standing in a basket in the corner.

Camden walked over to the rolls and plucked one up, unwinding it a bit to see happy

snowmen and candy canes dancing around. This wasn't like regular gift wrap. The design wasn't

duplicated perfectly over and over like it came from a template. It was obviously done by hand

and beautiful. "This is thicker than gift wrap found in stores."

Trace humphed at his remark, causing him to raise his eyebrows. "That stuff is not worth

the paper it is printed on. Most of them are so thin you can see right through it. There is a reason

presentation is derived from the word present. The presentation of anything is the first thing that

is seen. It's what makes them smile. If you aren't going to put a little effort into it, then you might

as well throw it into a brown paper sack and say Merry Christmas."

Cam chuckled. "Sore subject?"

By Trace's expression, Cam deduced the man hadn't meant to raise his voice and was

embarrassed by his outburst. Cam glanced out the back window to see nothing but white as he

replaced the roll of wrapping paper. "Oh shit." He hurried to the front door and threw it open,

completely forgetting that he was in his skivvies and nothing else.

He slammed the door shut quickly, but not fast enough to miss the burst of icy wind that

pebbled his nipples and froze his chest hairs. He had to throw his body against the door a few

times to make sure it completely closed. "The snow is over two feet up the door. How the hell

am I going to get to my car and get outta here?"

Oh shit. My car!

He ran to the front window and looked out, his breathing so rapid that little puffs of white

appeared on the window one on top of the other. "I can't even see her. I assume she's that bump

of snow right there, but damn, she's completely covered."

When Trace didn't jump in with any great words of wisdom, Cam turned and saw him

back to his coloring, or drawing, or whatever the hell some idiot who decides to make his own

wrapping paper would call it. "Hello… Earth to Trace. How can you just sit there and doodle

while I'm in a crisis here?"

"I don't have to do this. I can finish up the toys I started yesterday. Or are you hungry? I

can make you some breakfast. But whatever I do, it won't change the fact that you aren't

supposed to be leaving just yet. Don't worry, nothing is permanent."

He watched as Trace got up from his stool and walked over to a huge wooden hutch on

the other side of the room. The hutch was ornate and beautifully crafted and reminded him of

something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Cam followed him over and ran his hand down the smooth side, admiring the intricate

craftsmanship. "This looks familiar."

"I built it myself. I needed a spot to store my unfinished toys." Trace opened the doors,

the antique looking hinges swiveling perfectly without even a squeak. Cam peeked inside to see

rows and rows of old fashioned children's toys and other items such as jewelry and keepsake

boxes, all carved of wood and in different levels of completion on the shelves. Trace swung the

doors open and plucked one from farther in the back.

"This one has been giving me trouble. It's the ones for the youngsters I fret over the most.

The older children aren't into woodwork as much. They enjoy the trinket boxes with different

engravings on them, like dragons or frogs or unicorns. The jewelry trees are a big hit and fun to

do also. But the young ones, they still get a kick out of the wooden toys I make."

Camden plucked the half-finished horse out of Trace's hands. It was indeed terrific work,

very intricate, the eyes and mouth with the bit in it were amazing. It was big enough—if it ever

got finished—for one of those flexible plastic dolls to sit on and ride, but there was no ass or tail

on it yet.

"How much are you going to sell this for? Seems like a waste of time when there is a We

Are Toys Emporium on every damn corner and a plastic horse costs less than ten bucks." He

handed it back to Trace and walked back to the drafting table.

"So, you make gift wrap and doll's horses. Things that probably take you weeks to make.

While you are whittling away your life, I can go to the toy store and get the same thing for a ten

spot and still have enough for a cup of coffee. Not seeing a great return on your time here."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Trace returned the unfinished work to its shelf and

headed into the kitchen. His voice floated out to Cam, strong with emotion.

"But for only a ten spot can you get a five-year-old persnickety child to quiet down and

play for hours on end, day after day? Get them to tap into their imagination without the aid of an

electrical device?

"For a simple ten bucks can you get an ornery teenager, whose sole purpose in life is to

have fun with their friends, can you get them to stop for just a moment and lovingly trace the

contours of a trinket box? Inspire them to clean a corner of their bureau to stash it safely?"

Trace's enthusiasm was almost catching, if you lived in lollipop fields. Cam followed him

into the kitchen for his rebuttal. "Nope, and neither can you considering these are way more than

ten dollars each. And that trinket box you are so proud of… it's being stashed in their backpack

in the back of their closet and housing illegal paraphernalia, just so you know."

Once again he was sitting at the little table with a steaming mug of something placed in

his hands.

"Here, you must be parched. The mug isn't just half empty with you, it's completely

barren and dry. Sip slowly, it's hot."

"Yeah, the steam didn't hint to that at all," Cam grumbled under his breath as he sipped

what turned out to be the spiciest apple cider he had ever tasted. The cinnamon and allspice

danced over his taste buds before sliding down his throat. He was actually upset it was so hot. He

wanted to gulp it down and ask for more.

"So what do I do now? Sit around and watch you play with your wood?" Cam hadn't

meant to phrase it like that, but now that the thought was in his head, he realized watching Trace

play with his wood wasn't such a bad idea. Of course he wasn't referring to the wood in the hutch

anymore, though.

"Relax. Listen to some Christmas music and read a book. It really doesn't matter what

you do, now does it?"

Chapter 4

Four days. He'd been stuck in this ramshackle fucking excuse of a cottage for four

fucking days. It wouldn't be so bad if there was a computer with internet, or a television set, or

someone who wasn't so damn happy all the fucking time. It was all Camden could do not to take

Trace by the shoulders and shake him until that damn smile fell off his face. But with Cam's luck

Trace probably secretly enjoyed the rough stuff and would just smile more.

Now that wouldn't be so bad, pounding into Trace while he smiled and screamed for

more. Sliding in and out of him, feeling Trace's ass envelop him on all sides, massaging him

while Camden in turn massaged that sweet spot inside Trace. Watching as Trace's eyes changed

colors rapidly with his growing orgasm.

Camden had never actually seen them change color, but he knew they did. He stopped

believing it was a trick of the light two days ago, and yesterday, he finally stopped asking Trace

about it.

While Cam had been going completely and utterly insane being locked in the cabin that

time forgot, Trace had been completely and utterly in his element. He never got bored and never

complained about being stuck with a stranger who’d barged in. He was always doing something,

and he never had any downtime between baking, cooking, woodworking, and gift wrapping. Yet

he still had time to chat it up with Cam whenever Cam had to break the silence.

Camden found his way of thinking and even talking kind of refreshing, too. He wasn't

jaded like all of Cam's friends and family. Trace naturally felt joy for everything that caught his

attention. Boy would Cam like to show him a little joy this time of year.

And there he was, back to that thought. He knew Trace was attracted to him. He caught

Trace checking him out more than once, and every time, he would bend a little more or stretch a

little farther or swallow a little slower. Put on a show just to test the waters, and by the look in

Trace's eyes, those waters were warming quickly. Damn, could Camden use a quicky right about

now.

He rolled out of bed, where he was resting, and decided to search out the subject of his

thoughts. Trace was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, staring at a block of wood the size of

a long shoe box. Cam quietly sat next to him, closer than proper etiquette would normally allow,

and stared at the wood with him.

Surprisingly enough, Cam wasn't just mimicking or funning with Trace. He really

eyeballed the wood, tried to imagine himself looking at it through those multi-colored eyes. He

took in the different shades of copper running through it, amazed that he even saw what appeared

to be a small strip of deep purple maybe. He appreciated the dark knot on the far end that

blended all the shades perfectly together. He noted that even though this was an unfinished piece

of wood, how smooth the surface seemed, how sleek and strong it looked. The potential for this

simple piece of nature was outstanding.

In his mind's eye, it levitated above the floor and rolled over and over in the space in

front of him, wood shavings dropping away to the sides. Two distinct curves slowly appearing,

attached to a round base. Dips and long lines being hollowed out, smoothed away, big chunks of

wood being chiseled out of the middle and vanishing to nothing before they could hit the floor.

The statue twirled again to show nondescript lithe bodies, two of them, being twined

together in the shape of a figure eight. The feet of one meeting with the outstretched arms and

hands of the other so they flowed like one fine line without any breaks. They had neither eyes

nor mouths, nothing so unnecessary, but their hearts and souls were there for the world to see.

Finally the last stroke of the knife was done and the figures darkened with a thick gloss

coating, bringing out the natural beauty of the copper-tinged wood. Camden leaned toward it in

awe, slightly raising his hand, wanting to touch. The beautiful sculpture wasn't a figure eight like

he had first thought.

The two lovers frozen in time, the perfect shape of the infinity sign, forever connected to

each other.

"It spoke to you, didn't it?"

Camden jumped and turned quickly to Trace, toppling sideways in the process. He

looked back at the sculpture but it was gone, the lump of wood back on the rug in its original

position.

"Did you see that? What the fuck?"

Trace smiled at Cam. "So, what does this beautiful block of potential want us to make it?

It hasn't been communicating with me, so you'll have to share."

Cam didn't answer Trace, just kept staring at the wood, waiting to see if something would

happen again. Trace leaned forward and offered his hand to bring Cam back into a sitting

position. "It shocked me also, my first time. But now I look forward to it, it gives me strength. I

share with others that enjoy my craft too, much to my boss's dismay sometimes."

Camden took the offered hand and straightened up on the rug, but didn't let go right

away. "It was breathtaking. But no human hands could do what I saw. It was so intricate yet so

simple in design. The bodies curled and…" He shook his head in amazement, feeling like

something magical had happened to him. He now understood what Daley always said about

inspiration, when an idea just appeared to him and he had to take it and run with it.

But Camden couldn't run with this. He had absolutely no talent in this field. He wasn't

just being the little engine that couldn't either. Daley had tried to show him how, selflessly and

patiently sat with him on a number of occasions, but he couldn't do more than make an oversized

toothpick.

The idea of his vision never coming to light really bothered him. More so than anything

else, even having to trudge up to visit his parents during Christmas. He racked his brain for

options. Suddenly Trace put a drawing pad and pencil in his lap and smiled at him.

"Don't worry. We will do this and it'll be good."

For hours they sat on the floor, laid on the rug, leaned against the couch, even propped on

the low coffee table trying to get every line and curve the way Camden saw it. The picture in his

mind didn't fade with the passing minutes. If anything it became even more detailed. Full mugs

of cocoa became half empty to empty then full again. When Camden reached his chocolate limit,

apple cider appeared. He quickly caught on to the shading aspect of drawing and the dips and

crevices came to life. A whole plate of peppermint sugar cookies and BLT sandwiches were

devoured while they perfected the inner 'x' of the infinity sign, making sure the legs and arms

crossed perfectly. There was no personal space boundaries as they leaned over each other,

crossed vision paths, and kept stealing the pencil and eraser out of the other's hand. They worked

without breaking like a sole unit, thinking aloud while laughing and contemplating the

possibilities of their project.

Finally, while the sun was setting, they leaned against each other's shoulders and looked

at all the paper strewn on the floor in front of them.

"Perfect. It's perfect, that's it." Cam turned his neck the slight distance needed to look at

Trace and smiled. "Can you do it? Can you make that"—he pointed to the papers showing his

infinity statue from all angles—"out of that?" He then pointed to the piece of wood that no

longer looked like a lump to him, but like a prospect of something great and beautiful.

Trace turned also to meet his gaze and smiled back. Camden didn't need an actual

answer, he saw in Trace's now green eyes that it was going to happen, and it would be even

better than any drawing they could sketch.

"Trace?"

Camden leaned forward the final few inches and touched his lips to Trace's, not giving

him time to answer the unspoken question. He pushed against Trace, wondering if the other man

would hold his ground or pull back, and sighed when Trace didn't give, but pushed also.

Camden's tongue flicked out and traced that Cupid's bow top lip that he had been fantasizing

over for the last four days. Then Cam grasped Trace's thick bottom lip between his teeth, not

biting or nibbling, just holding it there while running his tongue back and forth over it. Tasting

the peppermint and chocolate mixed with the spices from the cider and something that was

completely and utterly Trace alone. Trace tasted woodsy almost, like nature covered with pure

snow.

Soon the small taste wasn't nearly enough and Camden tugged Trace's lower lip down so

he could quickly stab his tongue into Trace's mouth. He wiggled his tongue farther in and glided

it over Trace's, rubbing and twirling them together, searching out the dark recesses of Trace's

mouth and drinking in the flavors.

A thrill went down his spine and straight through his cock when he felt Trace's hand slide

over his shoulder and hold the back of his neck. Trace's fingers dug into Camden's neck and

pulled him backward slowly, until he was lying on the floor with Trace above him. The kiss

became more urgent, the necessity building momentum.

Camden held Trace close while running his hands down Trace's back and into the loose

waist of his pants. He palmed the perfect ass that had teased him for four days straight, sliding

his fingers into the crack and feeling the heat of Trace's body. Twice his middle finger gently

brushed over Trace's wrinkled pucker, causing Trace to stiffen, not just his cock that was pressed

into Cam's hip, but his back and legs tensed also.

That caused Cam to pause. He broke from Trace's lips and kissed his way to his ear.

"Trace? Are you okay with this?" It seemed like a stupid question, since Trace was the

one on top of Cam. He was responding to the kissing aspect quite enthusiastically. But Trace's

body didn't react like one that couldn't wait to get fucked.

Trace mumbled something into Cam's neck, causing even more nerve endings to pop in

his body. He groaned and nibbled on Trace's ear before whispering, "Baby, I didn't hear you. I

have to know you're good with what we're doing." The endearment slipped out like second

nature.

Trace leaned back a bit and stared Camden in the eyes. "I said I've never done this

before."

Surely he didn't mean sex in general. Trace had to be in his mid-thirties at least, he

couldn't mean he'd never had sex. Maybe he'd never been with a man. That was plausible, a

damn shame but plausible. Or quite possibly Cam was overthinking this and Trace just simply

meant he hadn't bottomed. Even though every fiber of Cam's being wanted to quit talking and

pound into Trace, he knew this was important and had to be taken care of first. If Trace was

against receiving that was fine, Cam had bottomed before and would be more than willing to do

it again for Trace. Why couldn't this be like in those books where everyone was already on the

same page and the fun just happened?

He withdrew his hands from Trace's pants and cupped his face. "Tell me. Tell me what

you want and I'll do it."

Trace smiled and slowly moved down Cam's body. He tugged at Cam's clothing along the

way. Cam started peeling out of said clothing, wiggling about on the floor with Trace on top of

him. He was sure they made a humorous sight, but he really couldn't care less at this point. He

slipped down the waistband of the sleeper pants, loaned to him by Trace, until the other man's

hands took over and removed them from his legs.

Cam lay there on the rug completely stripped, not just of clothing. He stared at Trace as

the man stood and slowly removed his own. Every bit of skin exposed was a creamy white—

unblemished and beautiful. Camden couldn't wait to get his hands on it, to mark it with his teeth,

to claim what Trace was giving him.

Trace knelt between Cam's spread legs and took Cam’s cock in hand. Cam pushed into

his fist and they groaned together. He watched Trace's fingers run up and down the length of

him, probe into his slit with just enough pressure, and circle the rim of his head. Then he felt

Trace follow the vein down to the base right before a wet heat copied the movements of Trace's

fingers.

Camden shot up to his elbows and watched his cock slowly disappear into Trace's mouth.

He damn near found the meaning of Christmas when his crown bumped the back of Trace's

throat and the muscles there convulsed around it. Trace wasn't overly skilled in this area, but

what he lacked in knowledge, he made up for in enthusiasm and curiosity. It wasn't long until the

visual mixed with the physical drew his balls up tight with his fists clutching the rug.

"Trace, um… you might want to think…" He couldn't vocalize anything else but his

growls. He tried to give Trace an out, wiggle away from him, but Trace just grabbed his hips and

swallowed around him again and again. His cock jerked in the warmth of Trace's mouth as he

spurted over and over down Trace's throat. The feel of Trace swallowing his seed made him jet

again after he thought he had emptied himself.

Camden fell backward hard, bouncing his head off the floor and not caring. He may have

a knot there in a few, but in his humble opinion it was so worth it, especially since his arms

didn't seem able to hold him up anymore.

His eyes drifted closed at some point, but he was fully aware of Trace settling down next

to him. He was even more aware of the hard object poking him in the side of his hip. He licked

his lips and smiled.

"I'm famished."

"Oh. I can make us something to eat. Are you in the mood for sweets or no?"

Cam smiled at the disappointed tone in Trace's voice. He opened his eyes and looked

over at the beautiful blond next to him. "Nah, I'm more in the mood for salty."

"Well…I can make some homemade chocolate-covered potato chips. It wouldn't take too

long. I salt the chocolate instead of the potatoes which makes it just a little bit better in my

opinion."

Cam turned to his side and propped up on his now recovered arm. "Are you serious? You

really think I'm talking about food right now?"

"But you said you were hungry?"

Cam reached down with his free hand and wrapped it around Trace's slowly softening

cock. "There are better things to eat than chocolate potato chips. Do people really eat that stuff

anyway?" He tightened his grip on Trace when he saw the man was actually going to answer his

question. "It's a rhetorical question, doesn't require an answer right now."

Camden leaned over and slipped his tongue between Trace's lips, which had formed an

'O' of understanding. He tasted himself in his lover's mouth and it perked his anatomy right up.

Swiping his tongue around, Cam collected the flavor of them combined, then pulled back a

fraction to talk against Trace's plump lips.

"Now, may I have my own snack?"

Trace nodded his head, his lips and nose rubbing up against Cam's smile. Cam bent at the

waist and licked the drops of precum off the tip of Trace.

"Oh my. Camden."

Cam smirked up at him. "Don't worry, I know. Sip slowly, it's hot."

With those words of wisdom hanging in the air between them, he pursed his lips over the

head of Trace's cock and sucked, demanding all the liquid bliss come out and roll over his taste

buds. He pointed his tongue and delved into Trace's slit as far as he could, spurred on by the

noises that were escaping his excitable lover. He mouthed his way down the shaft and nibbled on

each ball until Trace started begging for release.

Finally he took pity on this beautiful man and worked Trace's cock in and out of his

mouth, letting his saliva coat it and drip down the sides onto his thighs. He maneuvered his

middle finger in his mouth along with Trace, wiggling it in to make room, and soaked his digit.

As he bobbed from root to tip and back again, slowly sipping all the cum Trace was leaking just

as instructed, he ran his middle finger around Trace's puckered opening, massaging it firmly.

When Trace passed the point of begging and actually used a few profanities, Cam slowly

slid a finger into him and found that special sweet spot. A few strong rubs and Trace was filling

his mouth with the salty snack he had been craving.

After he made sure that Trace was completely depleted, Cam got on his knees and took

his reawakened cock in hand and started to yank on it over Trace. It only took a few minutes for

him to moan Trace's name as his second orgasm hit him and he painted Trace's chest with it.

He collapsed next to Trace, who reached over and snagged the afghan off the couch to

cover them.

The last thing he heard before falling asleep was Trace telling him that yes, people really

did eat chocolate-covered potato chips.

Chapter 5

Camden woke to a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down and smiled. Trace was a

cuddler. He didn't like cuddling, he was more of a wham-bam-move-the-fuck-over man. So he

was surprised to see his arms wrapped around Trace and holding him close. He was happy they

moved the show to the bedroom, though. The hard wood floors in this cabin were not conducive

to a good night's sleep.

He'd decided when they woke in front of the fireplace, which seemed to stay lit twenty-

four seven, he wouldn't push for more than Trace was willing to give. So when Trace took his

hand and led him to the master bedroom, he was thrilled. Even if they didn't have sex again,

sleeping next to Trace was fulfilling all on its own.

But now nature called. Cam hated to move his sleeping beauty, but the alternative was

definitely not one of his kinks. He slid slowly out from underneath Trace's dead weight and went

to his bathroom down the hall. He had his bathroom kit there and brushing his teeth was also on

his list. He didn't bother to put any clothes on. This place must have been insulated a hundred

times over, since it really did retain the heat perfectly.

After taking a quick piss and brushing his teeth, he decided to make some coffee and a

snack for the both of them. Trace had done everything since he’d arrived, all the cooking and

cleaning. He wouldn't listen to Camden's argument that he was a grown man and could help out.

But Trace was sleeping now so Cam could wait on him for a change.

He peeked into the bedroom as he passed by to make sure Trace was still snoozing then

walked into the main room. Pausing in front of the low table, he sifted through their drawings of

his infinity statue. It still took his breath away. He knew he would never see it in real life. It was

impossible for anyone to hand sculpt something that intricate. But he liked the idea that it could

be.

He went into the always spotless kitchen to see what he had to work with for breakfast.

He was kind of amazed that this place was as well-stocked as it was, with all the cooking and

baking Trace did. He didn't seem to be worried about rationing anything through the storm. Since

Cam was the guest and didn't want to insult his host, he never questioned the subject either.

Maybe it was time to question. The fridge was empty. Not the 'boy, we need to go

shopping soon' kind of empty either. There wasn't a single thing in the fridge, not even the

mandatory old and crusty ketchup bottle. He closed it and opened the freezer instead. That was

just as barren.

He went to the cupboards and opened one after the other, nothing. No spices, no plates,

no glasses, not even a dust bunny.

"Oh shit. Are we in trouble. I guess this means no pancakes and eggs." He opened the

pantry just on the off chance that there might be some canned goods. Well, at least this wasn't

empty—sitting on the shelf was flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar.

He took the staples and set them on the counter, finding it interesting that the only things

in the pantry were the exact dry ingredients that he needed for pancakes. On a whim, he opened

the fridge again.

He stepped back from the appliance, letting the door swing all the way open. Sitting on

the top shelf was a pint of milk, a stick of butter ,and six eggs.

"That was not there two minutes ago," he whispered to himself.

Keeping his eye on the guilty items that seemed to be mocking him, he sidestepped over

to the counter and mumbled, "I need a big bowl and plates."

He raised his left arm and flicked his wrist so the cupboard door swung open. Cam

almost talked himself out of turning his head… almost. For some reason he already knew what

would be sitting in the cabinet, and he was right. A bright green mixing bowl sat on top of two

plates.

He backed up into a chair and sat down hard, too hard considering he was still naked. But

the sting didn't remove his focus from the items he couldn't take his eyes off of.

Thirty minutes later when Trace strolled into the kitchen wearing clothes, Cam was still

sitting in that chair nude. He watched as Trace took the scene in.

"I wanted to feed you breakfast in bed. From what I can gather, you need to tell the

kitchen what you want to make before searching for any ingredients. I've been working on this

theory in my head, but haven't had the nerve to test it out more than you can see here." He looked

into Trace's violet eyes. "You wanna tell me what I should think? Because let me tell you, I got

nothing right now."

Trace reached for him. "Camden—"

"Don't fucking touch me." The chair knocked over when he jumped away from Trace. He

walked quickly into the other room and looked around. The fireplace was still going strong, even

though he couldn't remember Trace adding kindling to it…ever. He searched the walls but

couldn't find a thermostat anywhere, nor heating vents of any kind.

"Why am I not frozen? Look outside. Yeah, the storm finally stopped, the sun is out, but

there is still white everywhere. Everything is blanketed in snow. Why can I stand here

completely buck ass naked and not be freezing my dick off?

"How come we never lost electricity during this storm? Why haven't the pipes frozen

over in this old cottage? Why is there always hot cocoa ready when you think I need a mug?

How can you make so many wood toys and wrapping paper so quickly? Where do you store your

supplies? How is it your clothes fit me perfectly when we are obviously not the same size? Why

does your craft feel so damn familiar to me? Why the fuck haven't I thought of any of these

questions before now?"

"Camden?"

"Answer the goddamn question."

Trace stood next to him, but didn't look at him. "Which one?"

"Doesn't matter. I have a feeling the answer to them all will be the same."

"You won't believe me."

"I just spent a very enlightening morning in a kitchen that will make anything appear if

you ask it to. Try me."

He heard Trace take a deep breath. "About thirty years ago my boss passed a summons to

me from a very excitable young boy. He was a good boy for the whole year, obeyed his parents,

and didn't even fight with his brother. All he wanted for Christmas was a wooden train set with

rails…"

Camden closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't want you to tell me a Christmas

story. Damn it, I need a pair of pants. I can't stand here naked, listening to this crap." He headed

for the hall. When Trace called out his name, he turned and growled, "What?"

Trace nodded to the coffee table, where a pair of green and red plaid sleeper pants sat

neatly folded. "Oh, you have got to fucking be kidding me. They're my size too, aren't they?"

He looked into Trace's sad blue eyes and sighed. Why was he even fighting this

anymore? He roughly tugged the pants on and sat on the chair opposite the couch, gesturing for

Trace to sit on the couch facing him. "Okay, you want to tell me a Christmas story, be my guest."

"I was given the letter because woodworking is my specialty. The wrapping paper is just

a bonus, but my true love is making things out of wood. I made that boy his train set for

Christmas, and he loved it. He played with it every day, and on good days he even convinced his

older brother to play with him. Even though his brother thought it was a kid's toy." Trace's eyes,

emerald now, bore a hole in him.

Suddenly he saw it as if it were yesterday. Daley's voice rang through his head. "Come

on, Cammie, this is the coolest train station ever. Come see how fast I can make it go!"

"I'm not a baby, I don't play with dumb trains. And don't call me that, Daley. I told you

the next time you called me that I was going to give you a noogie."

The two boys laughed as Cammie chased Daley all over their playroom, determined to

pin him and noogie his head something good. Camden thought he was too old to be in there

playing, but Daley wouldn't come out ever since he got that stupid toy, so if Camden wanted any

time with his brother he had to hang out there.

"Each year Daley would write in and want something new made. He had quite a vivid

imagination for a child. My favorite, the three dimensional puzzle dragon he asked for. It ended

up being over three feet high with interlocking blocks, a personal masterpiece."

Camden remembered that dragon, it was a masterpiece all right, it came apart and the

middle had to be pieced together before you could even start on the connecting outer blocks.

"But the next to the last letter we received from him was the most important one of his

life. He wrote telling about how his dream was to be able to carve the same wonderful things

from wood that he received from us.

"My boss was impressed with Daley. By this time he was in his teens, but he was still

writing faithfully every year and he was still behaving well. He hadn't fallen into the pitfalls of

teenage life. So even this wish was granted, and I was given leave to go teach him my trade.

"Daley was a natural and picked up on the craft in very little time at all. Before I knew it I

was being called back home. Daley's letters stopped, like all teenagers' letters do. But he never

strayed from the good list, and he did me real proud with everything he made. I started visiting

him in his slumber, giving him inspiration for his next project or helping him through if he was

blocked on his current one."

"I can't believe you've actually opened a business doing this hobby of yours, Daley."

Camden laughed as he walked around the little corner store that his brother had asked him to

help invest in.

"Ha ha ha. This isn't a hobby, Cammie. I love doing this stuff. Don't you like the bedside

table I made you? It's a one of a kind, no one will ever have the same table as you."

Camden smiled down at his lil brother, who wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up

into a fine man that Cam was proud of. "I love that table. I still don't know how you thought that

design up, but it's perfect for me."

"Let's just say I get visited regularly in my sleep by a woodworking genius elf."

"A short dude with pointy shoes and green tights? That's who you dream about? Man,

and I'm the one who’s gay?" Camden fell back in his chair, laughing.

"He doesn't wear tights."

"You don't wear tights…" Camden mumbled to himself.

Trace tilted his head to the side and stared at Camden. "I do not even own tights."

Camden shook his head and looked at Trace. "So what? Santa Claus is your boss and

you're an elf? That's why you are so into this toy and gift wrap making?"

Trace smiled softly at him. "You do not believe me?"

Camden stood and walked over to the hutch. He ran his hand down the elaborate corners

and wiped away a tear. "Oh no, I believe you. Did you know I have the matching table for this? I

can't believe I didn't pick up on that before, it was staring me in the face this whole time."

He turned and stared at Trace. "So Santa exists. That explains the gifts we got as children

that our parents looked surprised to see under the tree. Fine. So you took a liking to my brother

and helped him out on more than one occasion. I don't blame you, he was one of the best. He

should've never been taken from this earth so young. Okay. Care to explain what I'm doing here?

You said on my first day we weren't in North Carolina anymore. Where are we and why are we

there?"

Trace stood and walked over to him, hesitantly at first. But when Camden didn't rebuke

him this time, he took Cam's hands and settled those gorgeous lavender eyes on him. "We are in

my home, the North Pole. I also said the next to the last letter he wrote was the most important

one in his life. The last letter he wrote ended up being the most important one in my life."

Camden swallowed the knot in his throat and nodded for Trace to continue.

"Ten years ago Santa was surprised to receive another letter from Daley. He didn't even

open it, just passed it straight to me. I never understood that. I read it and cried. That sweet

innocent boy who grew up to be a perfect man was dying. Your modern medicines could not fix

him either, he said. I went to Santa and begged him to use his magic; that this was an outrage for

a truly good person to die so young, with so much left to do in his life.

"Santa looked at me and questioned if that was what the letter was for? Was Daley asking

us to cure him?"

Camden coughed and his voice trembled when he spoke. "No. Daley wouldn't have put

you or anyone in that position. He was brave through the end."

"You're right. This letter was not a wish for himself. He told in great length about his

beloved older brother, Cammie. How Cammie was persecuted by everyone held dear to him and

why. Because he loved men. It told about an older brother who, despite his anger toward those

people, despite the pain in his heart…he would make a trip up north every Christmas to visit with

Daley, all because Daley loved him visiting. This older brother who wanted everyone to think

that he was big and bad and tough, he never thought of himself first. He always made sure Daley

was happy before he was. So for Daley's last Christmas wish, his last letter to Santa, he asked for

his brother to see the true meaning of Christmas once again. Like he did when they were boys.

See the magic of love and laughter and be happy."

Chapter 6

The tears silently rolled down Camden's face. That was so typically Daley, on his

deathbed and worried about Cam. Damn him.

He turned away from Trace and regained his composure slightly. "So all of this…this

house, you being here, the block of wood…all of this was to appease my brother's death letter

from ten years ago?"

"You didn't need me ten years ago. You still had some faith which gave Santa and me

hope. As long as you continued to make that trip to your parents' house, you still had something

of Daley in you, carrying you through it. But this was going to be your last trek up north. This

year Santa and I didn't feel any hope or faith in you anymore. It was time."

"If this was some great big master plan to make me continue with this ritual, you wasted

your time. There is nothing for me in Maine anymore. I haven't even shown up yet, and I bet you

they aren't even questioning it."

He started walking around the room, worried. What did this mean for him and Trace?

Was it all just some elaborate hoax to teach him the spirit of Christmas? Then something Trace

said rang in his head and he stopped and looked at the elf in question.

"You said this last letter changed your life? How?"

It was Trace's turn to avoid eye contact as he sat back down on the couch. "I was thrilled

at the chance to fulfill Daley's last wish. I loved him as if he were my own brother. Elves aren't

forbidden to love. They find matches all the time here at the North Pole. Whether they are with

the same sex or opposite sex, we don't judge here. But I've never found anyone who captured my

interest or my heart. When you walked through that door, freezing cold and ornery…" He

stopped talking and looked down at his hands clasped in his lap.

"Yeah. Me too, Trace. But where does this leave us?"

Trace's head popped up, and he stared at Camden intently, making Camden fidget in his

spot a bit. "You too? Honestly?"

Camden shrugged, trying to make light of his feelings. "I cuddled with you. I figure that

means something, right?" He chuckled nervously.

Within moments Trace was in front of Camden again. Cam wasn't sure who initiated the

actual kiss, but once it was started there was no stopping it. Camden didn't want it to ever stop.

He ran his tongue along Trace's teeth and sucked on his tongue.

Too soon for his liking, though, Trace pulled away and stared him in the eyes. "Santa is

willing to bend the rules for you. He says he sees something in you he saw in Daley's letters,

something that makes him remember why he does what he does."

Cam swept Trace's hair behind his now noticeably pointed ear and caressed that point

with his fingertip. "What are you saying, Trace?"

Trace tilted his head into the caress. "If you want… If the idea appeals to you… You can

stay here with me, forever. I know this is all a lot to take in, the sudden—"

"Yes."

Trace stopped talking and blinked up at Camden. "Yes?"

"I have nothing at home. I have a few friends that hang out with me once in a blue moon.

I work and sleep, that's it. I have been empty since Daley died. But these days here with you, I

haven't felt so empty. Anyway, who can turn their backs on an enchanted cabin that grants your

every wish?"

He smiled when Trace laughed. "Yes, there are some great perks to be had here. Do you

want to go outside and officially see the North Pole?"

Camden pulled Trace closer and whispered in his ear, "Can I check out the perks first, the

North Pole second?"

"I like your master plan."

**********

"I do not like this master plan." Cam chuckled at Trace's almost whine.

"Well, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to." Cam feigned getting off the

bed when Trace grabbed his hand and held on with a steel grip.

"I want to do…"

Camden cradled his lover's face. "This isn't a deal breaker, Trace. Whether we do this or

not, I'm here with you for good. You're the one that brought this up, but if you're that hesitant… I

won't coerce you. We can do other things, or we can just hold each other." Cam straightened in

shock. Did he just offer to cuddle over fucking? Oh damn, he had it bad.

Trace got up and knee-walked toward him. Cam took advantage of the fact that they had

shed their clothes on the way to the bedroom and openly eyed Trace's cock jutting out proudly

and bouncing with his movements.

"Beautiful." He sighed and jumped a bit when Trace straddled his lap and started to

nibble on his neck. "Oh, okay. This is good. I like these other things."

Trace pressed against Cam, creating a mind-numbing friction that forced Cam to lift his

hips. "Oh yeah, other things are highly underrated." He kissed Trace's shoulder and mouthed his

collarbone.

Trace smiled at him and pushed him to lie down on the bed, his legs dangling over the

side. A clear tiny pitcher filled with a gelatinous dark substance appeared on the bed near his

head and he flinched. Trace chuckled and picked it up by the handle, tipping it slightly over

Cam's chest.

"Hey. What's in that thing? I didn't hear you ask for anything."

The thick syrup was drizzled over his nipple, and Cam stopped talking to arch his back

and sigh. The warm sticky feeling was stimulating, but he couldn't place the scent that wafted up

to him. "That's not maple or honey. What is it?"

He watched the tip of Trace's tongue circle his nub, drawing in the pool of gooeyness.

Trace then moved up a little and wiggled that same muscle between Cam's lips. Cam didn't need

any encouragement to accept the offering, sucking on Trace's tongue and tasting the flavor of

gingerbread.

"Mmm…gingerbread syrup?" He mumbled the words against Trace's lips, then attempted

another kiss. But Trace had other ideas as he lapped the rest of the goodness off.

"More like gingerbread oil, it's not as tacky as syrups are. Homemade, of course." Trace

poured lower this time, a line leading down to the bits that were eagerly awaiting attention. "And

this is my house. I don't have to verbalize what I need." He looked up and Cam felt the intensity

of his gaze. "This is your house now too, you can just think of something and the house will

provide."

Cam's head fell back as he enjoyed Trace's ministrations. "Good to know." He chuckled.

He was so lost in the feeling of that moist tongue and the heat of the oil that he was

surprised when he felt the cool latex begin to engulf his cock. He lifted his head and quirked an

eyebrow at his elf. "Um…Trace? What are you doing?"

The fingers rolling the condom down stopped mid-motion. "Am I doing it wrong? I could

be doing it wrong. But really, how many different ways can you apply a condom to a penis?" His

hands, still around Cam's cock, started to shake slightly.

Cam shot up to a sitting position, grabbing Trace so as not to knock him down in the

process. "Honey, you're doing it fine. My question was more to the point of why are you doing

it?"

"If we are going to have sex, you should wear one, right? I mean technically, we don't

have to because, well, I'm an elf and can't be infected with anything. Not even the common cold

has a chance with me. But I thought that kind of talk during our sex would break the mood and I

didn't want to break the—"

Camden pressed their mouths together, figuring that was a preferred way to stop Trace's

babbling. While he had Trace occupied, he dipped his fingers in the gingerbread oil and felt for

Trace's opening. When his fingers felt the crinkled skin, he ran them softly around it. With each

circle, he added more pressure until the tip of his middle finger breached the opening.

Trace's back straightened a bit, but Cam grabbed his erection with his other hand and

Trace quickly forgot what was happening behind him. Cam slid his finger in farther, slow

enough to allow Trace to get accustomed to the invasion. He swirled his finger around then

began to fuck Trace with it.

When Trace started pushing back against his hand, Cam removed his finger and dipped it

again, smirking through the kiss when Trace made little whimpering noises while wiggling his

ass looking for the missing sensation. Two fingers now breached his opening, but Trace must

have been prepared this time, because he didn't tense up. Cam once again went through the trials

of inching in and out, making sure to spread his fingers along the way to help prepare the

untouched flesh. Trace's muscles clung to him, trying to discourage his outward movements.

Soon they were in a coordinated dance with Cam plunging his fingers into Trace and

Trace grinding their cocks together between thrusts, all the while their lips stayed focused on

each other's. But Cam's new lover apparently wasn't satisfied with this arrangement.

"I want more, Cam. I need…oh goodness, I have to have you in me. Please make love to

me."

Cam tried not to chuckle, even though he loved Trace's way with words. He lifted Trace's

hips up a bit and rested the tip of his cock to Trace's pucker.

"Listen to me, honey. I know you are going to feel like you want to slam down on me,

but you can't. Not this time, okay?"

He waited for Trace to nod that he understood then he held onto Trace's waist. "I'm going

to guide you to start off. It will burn at first, but, honey, I'm going to make this so good for you.

I'll make you feel good, promise." He kept up his murmuring with his lips kissing all over

Trace's face in between his words as he began to push down slowly on Trace's hips.

It didn't feel like Trace's hole was going to give any leeway to this larger intrusion, but

finally the head of his cock popped through. He stopped his pressure on Trace's hips at the same

time that Trace gasped. It took all of Cam's willpower to hold them both still and not plunge into

the soft heat that was engulfing him. Only when he felt some of the tension dissipate from

Trace's body did he venture in another couple of inches. The rings of muscle in Trace's ass

finally gave way and tried to suck him in, but he held firm and continued with his pace.

Before he realized it, he was fully seated inside Trace. His lover's face was buried against

his shoulder and Cam could feel his quickened breaths brushing his skin. He kissed down Trace's

neck, still murmuring soothing words.

They only held that pose for a few seconds when Trace mumbled, "Please move…do

something, anything…just let me move."

After that plea, slow and steady was no longer an option. Trace arched his back, his head

tilted to the ceiling as he rode Cam's cock. Cam wrapped one hand around Trace to brace him

and the other went to Trace's erection, matching the rhythm that Trace was set on. Leaning

forward, Cam teethed Trace's nipple to put the final sensation needed for Trace, and he screamed

as he spurted between them, rope after pearly rope of cum shooting high enough to get the

bottom of Cam's chin.

The pulsating of Trace's channel around Cam's cock and the look of complete bliss on

Trace's face were enough to push Cam to that point as well, and he grunted out his completion,

emptying himself inside Trace over and over again.

They both fell limp to the bed, Cam gently removing himself and the filled condom from

his lover's ass. He pulled Trace closer and they waited for their hearts to go back to their normal

legato. When Trace looked at him and smiled, Cam finally relaxed completely. He had made this

good for the only person he ever loved besides his brother. He couldn't ask for anything more.

After about a half an hour of afterglow, when they were both on the verge of slumber,

Cam heard a soft rapping on the front door. Shocked that they actually had a visitor, he

disengaged himself from all four of Trace's limbs and stood. He stared at the bed with his elf all

sleepy-like and sated, lying across it. What he really needed was a robe, he thought. He looked

on the bed, but nothing happened.

"Well, so much for me thinking it, huh?" he mumbled to himself as he turned for his

pants. On top of his pants rested a light blue very short silk robe. Cam chuckled. "Very funny,

but I was thinking terry cloth and maybe something a bit darker?" Before his eyes the silk robe

turned into a terry cloth dark blue one. Cam reached out for it and said a prayer to remember

never to piss this house off.

He slipped it on and tied it then headed for the door.

"Camden, where are you going?" came a sleepy voice from behind him.

"Someone is at the door, any ideas who could be visiting?" Cam didn't wait for his

answer as he walked across the hardwood floor, barefoot and warm.

He heard Trace shout to wait a second at the same time he opened the door.

His jaw dropped as he stared at their visitor. Daley's smile hadn't changed in the ten years

since he'd passed, and neither had his chuckle.

"Hey, Cammie. It's about damn time you got here."

The End

Property Of Unseen Unheard Library

Havan Fellows Author Bio

I annoy, love, respect, scare, seduce, hurt, anger, infatuate, frustrate, flatter, envy, amuse and
tolerate everyone. I just do it better in writing thanks to a little thing called…edits.

Okay no, seriously…I'm a simpleminded person who enjoys the escape from real life through a
book. I write with the group Story Orgy and hope to continue doing so for a long time. I also am
privileged to be with the Pulp Friction writers creating intermingling books in a world all our
own. And just like every other red-blooded human—I love hearing from people. So feel free to
drop me a line—whether it's a comment on my blog, an email, a tweet or you track me down on
FaceBook or Google + …it's easy to catch someone who wants to be caught.

Blog -

http://havanshawthaven.blogspot.com

Email -

[e-mail]

Twitter - @havanfellows
FaceBook -

http://www.facebook.com/HavanFellowsauthor?fref=ts

Google + -

https://plus.google.com/100539863028704367957/posts

Additional titles by Havan Fellows

Story Orgy

And The Prompt Is

…

Vol 1 (Out of Print)

And The Prompt Is

…

Holiday Edition (Out of Print)

And The Prompt Is

…

Road Trip Edition

Story Orgy Singles

Farewell (originally from And The Prompt Is...Vol 1)

A Trace of Christmas Spirit (originally from And The Prompt Is...Holiday Edition)

Synchronous Seductions Trilogy

Harlan's Ryde

Emery's Ritches

Geoff's Teddy

Pulp Friction

Wicked's Way

Wicked Solutions #1

Wicked Bindings #2

Wicked Incarceration #3

Wicked Guidance #4

Wicked Truths #5

Other World Collection

Djin 1

Wish Me Nothing

Stand Alone Titles

Judging Jude

Anthologies

Freaky Flashes

Hot Flashes

Free Read

Lucky Night